Platonic
by Anne Kerouac
Summary: He walked towards her and held out his hand. A blank expression on his face matched hers. She grabbed it reluctantly and pulled her up. His thumb began caressing her collarbone before both hands reached for her nape to unhook Salazar Slytherin's locket. (HP/HG, Rated M, One-shot)


**Platonic**

"What can I do to make it all stop?" Hermione tells Harry, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying after her two best friends' argument, causing Ron to abandon them. They had no choice but to leave the camp; the snatchers were everywhere and they couldn't have stayed in the same place for more than a few days.

It was the locket. Both she and Harry knew that the locket had the worst effect on Ron. Maybe because he was most vulnerable, given his current arm's state. But this was a mere speculation and maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to the hurtful words he said to Harry. She was angry with Harry, too, for telling him to leave. Everything seemed hopeless now. By now, Hermione wasn't sure if she'd even find her parents alive anymore. The Death Eaters might have found them and already killed them on the spot.

"What do I do?" she asked again (this time, to herself). What they have left of the little civilization they have is that damned radio Harry kept listening in to, hoping Ginny's name wouldn't be mentioned in the deaths broadcast by _Wizard Today._ She envied them, really. Harry and Ginny. How they were able to find love amidst the chaos of it all, she never understood.

Here she was, for a while, she and Ron had this mutual understanding of each other's feelings. He liked her and she supposed she has liked him for a while. She supposed this was the case because she had been jealous of Ron and Lavender when they started to date. She had wanted him to take her to the Yule Ball, too, not daring to think Harry as a date after what Rita Skeeter's gossip stint for the _Daily Prophet._ Either way, when Viktor Krum came into the picture, it was easy to rub the thought of her and Ron going to the Yule Ball together off the picture.

Maybe this idea of war and immediate death sparked this thing with her and Ron. Her vocabulary may be vast, but there was nothing to call this—whatever _this_ was with him. There would be nights when she would intentionally let her hand hang from the bed, just to see if he would grab it in the middle of the night. When she would wake up in the morning, she'd prove herself right. Their hugs after getting out of a dangerous situation (not that all of their situations weren't dangerous) would become longer, tighter. And without actually mentioning these little actions in a conversation, it gave them comfort—the idea that they were _there_ for each other in ways that another person could not do for them.

Harry stared at her as the radio station began playing a song. There were so many thoughts that swirled in his mind. There was no such thing as quiet after Dumbledore died. Or to put it more aptly, murdered. Murdered by the one person he thought Albus Dumbledore could entrust all his secrets and his life to. The emptiness in Harry's eyes had replaced the warmth. He had no one apart from Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. There was no even Ron now. Ronald Weasley could be dead for all they know. As of this moment, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger only had each other to count on.

He walked towards her and held out his hand. A blank expression on his face matched hers. She grabbed it reluctantly and pulled her up. His thumb began caressing her collarbone before both hands reached for her nape to unhook Salazar Slytherin's locket.

Harry had done this so slowly, staring at Hermione with a look in his eyes she could not decipher. And as soon as the locket fell to the ground, she knew what this look was. This was the same look that Remus gave Tonks before they had left Privet Drive. The silent moment between them made Hermione feel as though watching the five seconds worth of staring deep into each other's eyes was something so voyeur. Harry's eyes encapsulated that moment—almost recreating it. It was the acceptance of death; the look one gives another before walking into his demise.

He was ready to die and she knew this. The idea had been brewing for a while that Harry was a horcrux. She had no idea if he himself knew, but the look in his eyes suggests something. He grabbed both her hands, and by the way he stroked the back of her hands, she could swear that her skin can almost memorize his fingerprints.

Before she knew it, Harry was walking her towards the lighter part of the tent. His body swayed, guiding hers in the process. She didn't want to at first. Who would have wanted to dance in such a situation? They could get killed anytime soon and he wanted to dance? But the look in his eyes and the way he pursed his lips as though he wanted to keep himself from crying or screaming made her body leave the stiff demeanor she donned all the time.

They were dancing to their pain and they were enjoying it. The smiles didn't have to be forced after they had closed the proximity between them. It was apparent that Harry's small gesture brought the weight off their shoulders—even just for a little while.

The song began to fade out, their chests heaved against each other. Her fingers fit his perfectly it gave her a curious feeling. She rested her forehead against his shoulder as he brought his cheek to her shoulder. Their heights did not present too much of a difference. She must have been just a few inches shorter, which he found to be the cause of his insecurity sometimes.

"That was my answer," he whispered. She didn't catch on immediately. But by the way that he tightened his grip, she knew he pertained to the dance. "This seems to be the only thing I can offer. I'm sorry." They began to sway again and this time, with the absence of music.

"It's okay," she managed to say without gasping in tears. They have been welling up again for quite some time now. No one had an answer to that question. There was nothing they could do but keep on fighting. Fighting, however, entailed a possible death. And as brave and Gryffindor she ever could be, she was still so afraid.

Harry hummed a tune for their quiet dance, gradually bringing his free hand to the small of her back, unaware that his thumb had found its way beneath the hem of her shirt, and was already massaging the skin beneath it.

Hermione, however, was fully aware of his actions. She remained paralyzed in his arms as her inner self was screaming Ginny and Ron's name but then justified to herself that it was _just_ Harry; he wouldn't do anything. Between them, this should be normal.

"I love you, Hermione." Harry mumbled as he shifted his lips to her hair, breathing in her perfume. He meant this, truly. They had gone through so much. He had gotten her in the most dangerous of situations yet she stuck by his side from the moment they had met on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione was the best friend that always made him the best version of himself. He and Ron would have been dead by now if it weren't for her and she knew this.

"I just wanted to say that before—you know—something happens to me." This did it. The tears broke free and streamed down her face. She clung onto him as though he would turn into thin air at any moment. She was gasping and chanted, _no_.

She could feel his tears dripping onto her skin, his chest heaving almost as violently as hers. They were both scared. "I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. Not you," he cried.

Harry and Hermione had never set a boundary for their relationship. Not that anyone ever felt the need to do so. Perhaps they should have made it clear to each other the moment speculations rose back in Fourth Year. They loved each other with a love that could never be phased. It was this fire that would perpetually burn in a corner where no one would dare reach.

"Ha-rry…" Hermione sobbed so loudly, that if she hadn't placed a Silencing Charm on their tent, they would easily be discovered. And suddenly, they found each other's lips. Neither protested as their teeth clashed in a clumsy, needy kiss. They could taste each other's tears, each others fears as their tongues swirled in an almost dance as though this was something that was the most natural thing in the world.

She bit his lower lip and could feel him exhale through his nose. His hands roamed underneath her shirt and realized how smooth and cold her skin was for the first time. Harry closed his eyes, trying to memorize every detail of the skin he was made privy to, as she left trails of kisses on his neck and back to his lips—a carnal act he would have never imagined Hermione Granger would do.

Without the need for permission, he unclasped her bra with two fingers and brought his thumb underneath the loose garment, slowly tracing the mark it had left on her skin and the brushed the tip of her nipple. She moaned then shuddered under his touch. She relished in this foreign feeling as she pushed her chest against his hand, ushering him to touch her again. He stopped to unbutton her shirt and she, in turn, impatiently brought his sweater over his head.

Letting the bra fall to the ground, Harry cupped both her breasts and brought a nipple to his lips, licking around it before taking it in his mouth. She tasted like sweat and a vague trace of vanilla lotion. Hermione paid no attention to her thoughts as she threw her head back moaning and brought her free hands to his head to press him against her further. She moaned loudly as he sucked her, and let him move to the other breast as he fondled with the swollen one.

She began unbuttoning and unzipping her pants and shuddered every once in a while when he would swirl his hot tongue over her nipple and blow over it. He broke away for a few good moments to push his own pair of pants off, not minding the cold as they both stood there with only their undergarments on.

They stared at each other for a while as he slowly put his thumbs underneath the garter of her knickers and brought it down to her ankles for her to kick away. She stared at him during this entire embarrassing process of stripping her down to her naked self.

"You're beautiful," he breathed as he kissed her gently, she brought her arms around his neck and pulled him down to the pool of their clothes. And as she lay down with him staring at her, his arms supporting his own weight, she realized just how important this man was to her. She would never let _anyone_ touch her this way, not even Ron. Or maybe, it would take some sort of pace to let Ron do this.

Harry kissed her ear and whispered, "You're beautiful." Her fingers roamed freely all over his hair while he trailed down once more to taste her breasts, not daring to move down _yet_.

She tugged at his boxers to signal what she wanted. And instead of having her take them off, he immediately pulled his boxers down and threw it somewhere across the tent. Perhaps it was this carnal desire taking over her or perhaps curiosity was what made her sit up, pushing him in a similar position with his legs parted. They stared at each other, naked, both equally fearless. What took Harry by surprise was when she began kneeling down and crouching over him, hovering over his hard member.

A cold hand began to stroke him, thumb massaging his tip as he shuddered and moaned her name. As though learning a new skill, she began to stroke him again in a rhythm that made his breathing hitch once in a while. His hands roamed over her body to find her breasts, kneading them, pinching her nipples. She parted her knees just a bit when she felt Harry's hand making its way down to her lower abdomen. He marveled at how good he felt; it felt even better than stroking himself when he felt an urge to.

With one hand on her left breast, and another making its way down, she could feel anticipation and the wetness between her legs. Gone were the bouts of remorse she had, gone were the thoughts of Ron and Ginny—right now, the only thing that mattered was his hand making contact with her bud. The feeling tickled, it wasn't at first a feeling she was at all familiar with. And almost immediately, as his fingers started rubbing over it, she felt a surge of heat emanate from her body and out of her pores.

She gasped when he slid a finger inside her and stopped stroking him. He pulled out and lay her down on the pool of clothing to give himself better access. For the second time, the entire length of his middle finger made its way into her most sacred opening. He moved in and out, in and out, until he picked up a pace when Hermione's eyes closed, mouth parted as she breathed heavily. Then he slipped another finger, moved in and out in a dangerously fast rhythm that it felt like she was vibrating. She was crying his name out when he suddenly pulled his fingers out and hoisted her legs over his shoulders for his mouth to meet the most glorious piece of pink flesh that welcomed his lips.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, mortified. How could he do something so… barbaric? He licked her clit and she hissed in pleasure, arching her back. He licked it again, this time in a constant motion of flicking his tongue against her clit and then inserted a finger into her arousal. He moaned against her as he felt and tasted how wet she was. Hermione was practically screaming his name as he motioned his finger in and out in rhythm with his tongue's flicking. Suddenly, every notion of barbarism escaped her.

"Oh my god! Oh my god, Harry, I'm—ah—I'm!" she was unable to finish her sentence as she experienced her first orgasm. "Stop!" but he didn't. In fact, he kept on going, sucking her, drinking her. He made her feel all things unimaginable and every time he would nip at her clit, she would cry out in incoherence.

With what little strength she had, she managed to push him off gently and bent down to capture his member into her mouth. The act was almost instinctive, as though she had been instructed on how to do this before. She mimicked the tongue-flicking rhythm on the tip of his member, then slowly ran her tongue down his length. He groaned in pleasure, burying his fingers into her hair. She tried to take in his entire length but found herself gagging in the process. Instead, she began sucking him, head bobbing up and down as he moaned her name. "Hermione…"

He tapped her shoulder, wanting to push her away when he realized he was about to come. "Hermione, I'm going to come." Harry managed to say in between short breaths. "Hermione, you have to get off or else I'll—" she stared at him, licking his length before breaking away.

She lay down once more and pulled her over him with an unmistakable glint of want in both their eyes. The tip of his member pressed itself firmly against her thigh and without warning, she positioned him towards her opening. "Are you sure?" He asked her, eyes clouded with lust. She simply nodded. He parted her legs and slowly pushed himself in.

"Tell me when to stop." Harry said firmly, anxious about her pain. She gasped at the size of his flesh that entered her, her walls closing in on his length as a gesture of welcome. It wasn't painful; it was just… different, she concluded.

He slowly moved in and out, all the while staring at her. There was a suspension of disbelief—the disbelief that he was actually doing _this_ with his best friend. What mattered now was what _she_ was feeling. He couldn't make it out. Pain? Fear? In an attempt to appease her, he licked her right nipple, caressing it with his hot tongue.

Finally, she was beginning to find pleasure in this unfamiliar feeling. She felt his thumb rub her clit and she began to move in his rhythm. Instinctively, she pushed his hand away and began to rub herself as he moved in and out of her.

Harry hoisted her legs up to his shoulders in order to push into Hermione deeper. "Harry!" she chanted with eyes closed as she massaged her clit. "Faster. Please." He moved in and out her so violently that his sweat began to drip onto her stomach.

She was so beautiful in her most naked self, literally and figuratively. It didn't take long for both of them to reach their climax, screaming each other's names as he pulled out of her to release himself on her stomach—some of his sperm reaching her shoulder which she chuckled at.

He lay down beside her and they panted, staring into space. In a few moments, they would come back to reality, with emotions such as remorse and maybe even regret. Tonight, they had both shared something so special that no one can ever take away from them. Tomorrow or the next day, Ron might come back; Ginny and Harry might be reunited, too. But in the event that this was to be their last night together, they were both secretly glad that they had spent it this way. And tonight confirmed that whatever their relationship was, it was most certainly, definitely not platonic.

— Anne Kerouac


End file.
